


Radio Silence

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10119893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: Prompt: Mickey is mute but no one outside his family knows-Mickey doesn't cry when he's born.Mickey doesn't garble the da-da-da of baby nonsense, regardless of how much encouragement he gets from his mom, the decreasing patience of his dad's demands.He is a grim faced, dirty handed boy with cut knees and missing teeth, a lopsided bowl cut, angry eyes, and persistent silence.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seazu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seazu/gifts).



> Accepting prompts at starsandgutters.tumblr.com/ask

Mickey doesn't cry when he's born.

Mickey doesn't garble the da-da-da of baby nonsense, regardless of how much encouragement he gets from his mom, the decreasing patience of his dad's demands.

He is a grim faced, dirty handed boy with cut knees and missing teeth, a lopsided bowl cut, angry eyes, and persistent silence.

*

He knows what the teachers think of him, and his classmates. Hears them trying to whisper, in the way all kids' whispers are fuckin' stage whispers. Hears that word, over and over.

One kid is ballsy enough to ask him to his face. Comes stompin' over in his blue wellies and red hat, with a gap between his front teeth and an eye that's kinda lazy.

“Hey, are you a retard?”

Mickey widens that tooth gap by hitting him so hard one of his front teeth falls out. He's made to sit in the corner by himself for the rest of the day, but he can't hear the whispering from there.

*

Mickey comes home from school one day and finds his mom cold in her bed. He tugs at her, shakes her, even pulls her hair when he starts to panic. She doesn't move, and he knows what's happened, even if he doesn't want to admit it. Even if he doesn't fully understand. He lies down beside her, holds her cold hand, and cries silent tears until his body shakes.

He's exhausted when he hears the door. His eyes are red rimmed, but dry. He slips off the bed and goes out to find his father drunk. Mickey waves a hand to get his attention, and tries to indicate his parents' bedroom. As usual, Terry ignores him.

Mickey hates being ignored.

He loses his temper. Kicks over one of the kitchen chairs. Throws an empty beer bottle.

“You little fucker.” Terry grabs him by the arm, hard, slams him against the kitchen door frame. Mickey makes no sound. He knows that only makes his dad angrier, the fact he doesn't get any pained cries from Mickey. He swings him against the frame again, but the real pain comes from the way he twists Mickey's arm. He hears as well as feels the bone break. Satisfied with the sound, of finally earning a sound, Terry lets him fall to the ground. He steps over him to get himself a drink, and goes to pass out on the couch.

Mickey cradles his broken arm. He looks up and sees Mandy watching with wide, fearful eyes from her room. Mickey doesn't want her to have to see their mom's body, even though he knows Mandy will be able to do something about it, like maybe call 911. She takes a half step towards him, but he shakes his head, waves for her to go back into her room. She hesitates only briefly, then clicks the door shut.

Mickey waits on the doorstep until Iggy and Colin show up, pushing and shoving each other as they step through the gate. Mickey waves his good hand. Colin ruffles his hair.

“S'up, Mick?”

He tugs at Colin's shirt in a way he hasn't done in years, and for the first time his brother seems to notice the state he's in.

“Hey. What happened?”

“You okay?” Iggy's glances around Colin's shoulder. “Dad in a mood again?”

Mickey shakes his head. Terry is, but that's not the point. He tugs on Colin's shirt again, then inclines his head, silently asking him to follow. He takes a few steps, checks that he's following, and then continues through the house. Stopping in his parents' doorway and jerking his head again to make sure his brothers come.

“Shit,” Colin says when he sees the body.

“Is she-?” Iggy hovers by Mickey at the doorway, as if afraid to get any closer. Mickey watches Colin check for a pulse and discover what he already knows.

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

It's only hours later, when the body has been taken away (Mandy saw it when they were taking her out, so Mickey's brotherly protectiveness was wasted) and most of the Milkovich boys are well on their way to getting drunk, that Mickey realises no one has noticed his broken arm.

*

“Say Uncle, Mickey.”

Mickey glares through tear blurry eyes at Iggy, who is straddling his thighs. He's tired himself out kicking his legs wildly, and Colin has his arms pinned, so he can't punch the fucker either. Tried headbuttin', but with bein' held down and all, he can't get up enough to bash Iggy's stupid fuckin' nose in.

“No?” Iggy grins when he doesn't get an answer, and his fingers go back to enthusiastically tickling Mickey on the soft parts of his stomach.

Mickey thrashes beneath him. His face is screwed up with painful laughter, but the only noise coming out is a wheezy kind of silent laugh. He fuckin' hates bein' tickled, and the wankers know it.

“Teach you to steal our weed, pipsqueak,” Colin says, grinning down upside down at him. Mickey spits at him. It comes back and hits him between the eyes. Both Colin and Iggy cackle.

Fuckin' assholes.

When they grow bored of their torture, Mickey is left wheezy and tear stained on the couch. His stomach aches from laughter. He gets his breath back, lifts a tyre iron, scales the back of the couch and fuckin' leaps for Colin like a demented marmoset.

He doesn't have words, but he has fists and teeth and pointy angle joints.

*

He gets bored of school. It's probably more his aggressive attitude than his silence that leads to his lack of friends, but either way, it fuckin' sucks. He's constantly bored. Don't care for the classes, and there's nothing to fill the rest of the time between beyond chain smoking in the bathrooms and doin' silent deals, 'cause he still gotta make money, silence or no.

He drops out. Fuck it. Not like he's goin' anywhere, anyway. Not like there's anything for a Milkovich beyond organised crime. So he falls into that. Goes dealin' with Iggy, goes on runs with Terry, takes up shopliftin' as a new personal hobby.

“You gonna pay for that?”

Mickey glances up, wondering if Kash has finally grown some balls. Ha. As if. Instead he finds a boy behind the counter, redhead. Thinks he's one of the Gallaghers, but there's so fuckin' many of them, who can keep up?

“Well?” Gallagher folds his arms and raises an eyebrow questioningly. The effect is somewhat lost as it disappears beneath his fluffy mop of hair.

Mickey flips him off in response.

“Hey!”

He doesn't spare another glance, taking his armful out with him.

*

“I want the gun back, Mickey.”

Mickey stirs, sleep hazy, and glances back over his shoulder. Fuckin' Gallagher? The fuck this baked bean boy thinks he's gonna be able to do wavin' around a tyre iron with that weak ass grip? Mickey rubs his eyes and sits up.

“The gun.”

He wags a hand at Ian in an _alright calm down_ motion, and moves like he's going to grab the gun from his side drawer. Then he turns sharply, hitting Ian in the chest with one hand while knocking the tyre iron from his (fuckin' weak ass) grip with the other. In his next movement he hauls him up and throws him against his wall, springing up on the bed to catch him in a choke hold. After a brief scuffle, Mickey is breathing heavy as he kneels over him, tyre iron in his (firm, purposeful) grip this time.

He's chest rises and falls with his panting breaths, and he looks down on Ian, who is also panting and flushed beneath him. The pink makes his freckles pop. His breath is warm and heavy against Mickey's inner thigh, where he's trying to press his face away from the expected blow. Mickey feels his cock stir.

Ian seems to feel it too, his eyes flicking up to Mickey's face, then down to the now noticeable bulge. He looks back to Mickey with the smallest hint of a smile, and Mickey feels his stomach pool with liquid heat that streaks all the way to his cock. He starts sheddin' clothes.

“You got lube?”

Mickey pulls the second drawer of the bedside table and flicks a bottle at Ian, who takes his time with those fuckin' long fingers, working him open. Mickey squirms back against him. Glances over his shoulder with narrowed, impatient eyes. Huffs a sharp exhale through his nose.

“What?” Ian looks up at him, now wriggling in a third finger, as if Mickey's some little bitch who needs this much prep work. He huffs again. “I'm just makin' sure you're ready.”

Mickey huffs a third time, sounding a lot more irritated this time. Ian slaps his ass with his free hand. Mickey's lips part in a mixture of pleasure/pain and shock. Kid has fuckin' balls.

It's when Ian starts working his cock into him that Mickey realises why he spent so long fingering him. Not only does the kid have balls, but he's got a fuckin' huge cock to accompany them, and, yeah, okay, Mickey's only got toys to compare it to, and they're not really the same, but he's pretty sure Ian qualifies as hung. His fingers curl in the bedsheets and he heavy breathes his way through it, back arching against Ian when he's all the way in.

It's probably a good thing he's mute, because with the way Ian fucks him, he's not sure he could have kept quiet otherwise.

*

Ian tries to kiss him before he leaves. Mickey grabs him by the jaw, fingers pressing hard enough to make white indents on Ian's skin. He shakes his head once, insistent, before shoving Ian's head away.

*

Mickey walks into the Kash and Grab. Ian looks up at him with a lopsided grin. Mickey arches a suggestive eyebrow.

“Oh, you wanna-?”

He nods. Ian locks the door, takes him to the store room, and fucks him even better than the first time.

“I guess this was like a bootycall, huh?”

Mickey shrugs, loops his scarf around his neck and walks away.

*

“You don't talk a lot, do you?”

They're in one of Mickey's shooting ranges, an old abandoned building that's cold as fuck, but isolated enough to be safe. Fuckin' on a dirty sofa with dodgy springs digging into him is not ideal, but it's easy to forget about those little details when Ian's cock is inside him. This annoying aftermath ain't great, though. He wishes Ian would just fuck off after he's dropped his load, but he's always tryin' to fuckin' talk to him.

“Y'know, I don't think I've ever actually heard your voice.”

Mickey glares at him. Ian only grins back.

“C'mon, Mickey. Just one word.”

Mickey flips him off. Ian shoves him. Mickey shoves back. They wrestle until Mickey ends up pinned to the ground, and then he's bent over the back of the couch this time, Ian's grunts warm against the back of his neck and each of his own heavy breaths rising like smoke in front of him.

*

“You just never gonna talk to me, then?”

Ian is nothing if not disgustingly persistent, and Mickey is getting' real fuckin' tired of it. Is a straight forward, no questions asked fuck too much to ask for? Jesus. What's with all the getting' to know you shit Ian's tryna pull?

Mickey nods.

“Mickey.”

Mickey stares at him, eyebrow raised.

“Miiiiickey.”

Mickey huffs, and turns away from him.

“Oh Mickey you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my- _ow._ ” Ian rubs his arm where Mickey punched him, scowling.

Mickey's eyebrows are scrunched up in irritation, and he shakes his head while holding Ian's gaze. Can't stand that fuckin' song. Ian's frown boarders on pout, but he just laughs it off. Mickey hates that, too. Hates how unaffected Ian is by him.

“Come on-”

Mickey indicates his throat, then shakes his head.

“What?”

He huffs. Slowly touches his throat, then shakes his head.

“Neck no. Throat no. Skin no?”

Mickey puts a hand over his face and exhales long and loud through his nose. Fuckin' dumbass.

“Oh, shit, wait, you can't talk?”

Mickey slow claps sarcastically.

“Shit. No wonder you're always so quiet. I thought maybe you weren't, y'know, enjoying it, but then, why would you keep coming back if you didn't-”

Mickey places one hand firmly over Ian's mouth and the other grabs his cock, effectively shutting him up.

*

“I bet you'd have a really nice voice.”

Mickey elbows him hard in the stomach. Ian just laughs in response, tightens his hands on Mickey's hips and fucks into him harder, and for the first time his silence doesn't feel like a boundary. He doesn't need words with Ian, not when they've got this.

It's probably a good thing he's mute, because it means he can't do something stupid like tell Ian he might love him.

 


End file.
